


When I Want to Dance (I Fly)

by Tiny_Dragongirl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: But absolutely failing to understand each other, Der Tod is not the sympathetic Death we know and adore, First Kiss, Flying, House Hunting, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Wien 1854, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl
Summary: You can’t go too fast when you’re flying.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32
Collections: Holly Jolly July: a Good Omens Gift Exchange





	When I Want to Dance (I Fly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvercolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/gifts).



> This was written for the Holly Jolly July gift exchange. Many thanks to [EveningStarcatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningStarcatcher) for running it!  
> Wahoo for [chewb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewb/works) for betaing!  
> I listened to 'Wenn ich tanzen will' like 500 times while writing the Vienna bit. Apparently, this is what we get when I mix that and my first attempt at writing wingfic. [silvercolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour), I so hope you like the result.^^

Aziraphale spread his wings and let the gentle autumn breeze carry him, basking in the early October sunshine. In the beginning of his journey, he had nearly gotten involved in a hit-and-run accident with a goose, and thus he didn’t risk closing his eyes, but rested his gaze on the land below him instead: little remote villages, yellow, brown and green patches of fields, fluffy flocks of sheep, grey roads coiling like snakes.

Apropos, snakes. Aziraphale was flying over Hampshire in plain daylight because yesterday he got into an argument—a rather heavy one, mind you—with a certain snake, and Crowley didn’t pick him up in the morning.

Ah, _that_ still stung— but Aziraphale could only blame himself. He was the one to bring up a long-forgotten—ah, well, how to put it— _discussion_ a day before their cottage hunt. Then he sealed it by pointing out (in a raised voice) that maybe it would be unwise to buy a cottage together if they disagreed so much. As if. They had been disagreeing for 6000 years over various topics, and clearly, it worked as a stout pillar for their relationship just as much as the Agreement.

This particular argument originally started at the wedding of Elisabeth Amalie Eugenie Wittelsbach and Franz Joseph Karl von Österreich in 1854, and Aziraphale often wondered if it served as a prelude to the infamous holy water disagreement not a decade later.

Spring was warm and sunny in Austria, a nice change after spending many rainy days in London, and Aziraphale enjoyed Vienna immensely. It offered friendly coffeehouses with slices of Sachertorte, newspapers on gripper rods, potted palms, and pink little ladies playing grand pianos. The wedding was splendid, glamorous and tasteful, the ball after fitting for a Tolstoy novel.

Empress Sisi was a fascinating dancer. For some time, Aziraphale had been toying with the quite interesting question—how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Or rather, would a certain angel be capable of learning to dance? If someone can’t dance, they can’t _join in,_ and watching the freshly crowned empress’ elegant moves only fuelled Aziraphale’s desire to dance further. Only if he allowed himself the time… Maybe when he returned to London—

“Interesting. I can sense a boatload of desire in here.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale breathed out rather than said the name in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Watching the empress dance her third waltz with someone who is definitely not her husband.”

Aziraphale tore away his gaze from Crowley’s features (mostly masked, as usual, by those infuriating sunglasses) and watched carefully the handsome stranger holding Empress Elisabeth in their arms, but he couldn’t recognise them. Clearly not Emperor Franz Joseph I, nor Count Gyula Andrássy... Maybe he should have busied himself with studying the Habsburg court instead of drinking various cups of coffees. Strangely enough, nobody in the room paid them much attention—from time to time, a pair of eyes turned onto the dancing pair, only to slither off them like their brains were refusing to acknowledge the empress’ dance partner. It suggested a touch of the otherworldly about them, and Aziraphale instinctively leaned closer, eyes narrowing, to inspect the pair.

“She also has a lot of love in her. Oh my,” he said, breath hitching in his throat at the amount of love radiating off the empress. “Of course, that’s no surprise; love and desire are two sides of the same coin after all.”

Aziraphale had been sensing Crowley’s love for thousands of years—it was so strong, so vibrant, that sometimes he could hardly differentiate it from his own love for the demon. His adversary. His friend. Their love was so complex that it was difficult not to dive headfirst into it, sink or swim— and Aziraphale would have gladly sank in it, risking drowning but never risking Crowley’s life. Heaven was always watchful and always ready to punish, so Aziraphale had to be content with basking in Crowley’s love. In exchange, even if he couldn’t feel his more gentle and romantic feelings, Crowley could surely feel his deep, encompassing desire for him. Two sides of the same coin.

“That’s bollocks, angel,” Crowley snorted. “She can feel desire and love for different things. Different people. It’s just how humans work; they always want more. Little Sisi has been barely crowned empress and just got married, but she still wants _more_.”

“Nonsense, my dear. I believe humans are quite capable of being content with what they have at the moment.”

“At the moment, maybe, but then they crave more. Desire and love are like two boats in the night. Sometimes they meet out on the sea but different lights from different shores call them home.”

“That’s— that’s very poetic, Crowley.” Aziraphale felt touched, but slightly alarmed. Surely Crowley had humans in his mind when stating his views on desire and love. Their case, it was different—two boats, yes, maybe, but sailing together, not apart.

“Yeah, glad you like it.”

“I like it but I disagree.”

Empress Elisabeth of Austria looked beautiful on her wedding day, and later, when Aziraphale thought of dancing, her lithe form came to his mind, swirling through the ballroom on the arms of her mysterious partner.

Eventually, Aziraphale returned to London, got into a serious argument with Crowley, who decided to take a (century-)long nap, and Aziraphale learnt the gavotte. He loved dancing but desired to experience it with Crowley.

Although they got to do things together—stopping the Apocalypse, for example—and now, retired and free, they were about to buy a cottage together. Even if Crowley didn’t turn up for their rendezvous.

_“Isn’t it funny?” Aziraphale mused, pleasantly drunk, the previous evening. “I’m feeling perfectly content at the moment, yet I’m about to drastically change my life tomorrow.”_

_“Perfectly content, huh?” Crowley snickered. “That’s been your description for 6000 years.”_

_“Well, I admit I can appreciate the little joys of life, but I have desires as well—you must know that.”_

_“Oh, yes, I’ve been familiar with your desires for a long time. It’s fine, angel, really,” he grunted, “but I wish you wouldn’t dangle them in my face. I mean, we’re going to buy a house together, for Someone’s sake! I’ll have to live with your_ desires _.”_

_“Ahh.” Aziraphale had never thought, not for a single second, that Crowley might not desire him in certain ways. All that time he had been pushing his desires on him, sending out waves of lust without asking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”_

_His apology was met by an unbelieving snort. “Seriously, Aziraphale. You_ did _know.”_

_“You never said—”_

Oh.

_Oh._

Realisation dawned on him so suddenly that for a moment Aziraphale forgot how wings worked and nearly fell. Maybe it came from his different perspective, but it felt like his view had shifted and now he could see everything clearly as he had never seen it.

Crowley had never said that he desired Aziraphale—just as Aziraphale had never said that he loved Crowley. For thousands of years, they had been talking in riddles for fear of getting caught, on Aziraphale’s part, and probably for fear of rejection, on Crowley’s part. After all this time, Crowley was right: love and desire weren’t two sides of the same coin, they didn’t come hand-in-hand. If humans could feel desire without love, why wouldn’t Crowley believe a certain hedonistic angel could feel lust for a demon who considered himself unlovable?

“Oh dear.”

What was worse, Aziraphale proposed to move into a cottage with Crowley without confessing his love first. Now it was painfully obvious that Crowley, who could never say no to his angel, was afraid of not being able to resist and giving into Aziraphale’s desires as well once they lived in close quarters. Eventually, the demon would have let himself be used by his former adversary, best friend and love of his life, who didn’t even bother to come up with a decent love confession. Not even after he was free to do so—because if Aziraphale felt free enough to fly in plain daylight, he should feel free to do more important things.

Aziraphale descended from the sky so quickly that he nearly ended his journey in a crash landing. He ended up in the middle of a field, head clearer than ever, having no idea how to make things right.

“Aziraphale!” Miraculously and quite _deus ex machina_ , Crowley was running towards him across the field, the Bentley carelessly parked on the side of the road. “Are you out of your mind?”

Not the friendliest greeting, but perfectly fitting for the occasion.

“No, on the contrary. I’ve never felt so clear-headed.”

“I’ve been chasing you for _miles_ , angel.” At least they were back to ‘angel’, which was good, but judging by the way Crowley crumpled his sunglasses in his hand, he still felt mad at Aziraphale. “You were flying— Anybody could have seen you! Any human! You’re out of your mind. You’re insufferable! You’re in—”

“In love with you.”

“Infuriating— What?”

“Crowley, I’m in love with you, in every sense of the word.” Aziraphale felt the urge to be very, _very_ specific this time. “I’d love to live together with you in our own cottage, where I can cuddle you on our sofa in the evenings and I can wake you up with a kiss in our bed every morning. I wish to hold you, to kiss you, to cherish you. I’d love nothing more but to spend every single day of the rest of my life with you because. I love you.” He took a deep breath before going on—he wanted to make himself absolutely clear. “Or I could say, I feel an immense desire to spend every good or bad day with you for as long as you’ll have me. I know I can be fussy and difficult, so I understand if after last night you’d prefer to take things slower, maybe think it over—but please, never doubt that my deepest desire is to have a home with you. And because I’m rapacious, I’d very much like to celebrate next Christmas in our own house.”

By the time he finished his little speech, Crowley’s eyes were as big as saucers.

“No pressure, though.”

“Ngk.”

“I’m sorry, was I too much?” Aziraphale blushed with embarrassment. There was confessing his love, and there was flinging himself at Crowley’s head.

“You could never be too much, angel,” Crowley replied softly, stepping closer. “And you know that I’m perfectly content with how much you give me.”

“And you know that I always crave more.” Cautiously, Aziraphale leant closer and pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s lips but pulled back before he could get lost in the sensation. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay.”

After a second, more confident kiss, Aziraphale said, “Sometime we should discuss our views on physical intimacy. And we should probably talk about what we are looking for in a house.”

“A bed. That’s good for physical intimacy.”

“Crowley!” But he couldn’t help a little smile.

“‘Kay. What are your preferences?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a remote little house where we can safely fly under the stars or dance in the back garden. What do you think?”

“Sounds great.” Crowley’s voice was oddly breathless—maybe because Aziraphale was gently tracing his knuckles with his fingers. He quickly made a mental note not to overwhelm his demon (his friend, his lover) after a millennia of near-touches. “We could settle on the coast.”

“Excellent idea, dear.” Pressing an experimental kiss onto those knuckles, Aziraphale added, “We could watch the boats.”

“Yeah. Coming home to the same shore, guided by the same light.”

Aziraphale, busy peppering kisses all over that slender but strong hand, smiled into Crowley’s palm. “I can sense a _boatload_ of love here, dearest.”

Crowley groaned. “Angel, seriously.” He freed his hand from Aziraphale’s lavish attention, only to lace his fingers with his angel’s (his best friend, the love of his life) and pull him towards the Bentley. “Come on, let’s find that home before Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of historical accuracy, Empress Elisabeth and Count Andrássy didn't meet before January 1866. Also, I have no idea what her wedding was like, but since she married the Emperor of the Austrian Empire (which was later transformed into the Dual Monarchy of Austria-Hungary, so yeah, big empire), I bet it was glamorous.


End file.
